How can I profess to love gardens so much, only to quickly and efficiently slaughter every plant I buy? It's a mystery to me. I love the colour and fragrance of gardens, the interplay of airy plants next to sturdy, impenetrable shrubs, but above all, the expanse of green soothes me. While some people seek the beach for renewal, I crave a garden. Give me a sea of greens gently waving in a summer breeze, and I am in heaven.

*Part of the garden of Lamb House in Rye, East Sussex. This house and garden were the setting for a lot of the drama in the EF Benson series of Mapp and Lucia novels.*

One of the few plants thriving in my garden, only because it is faux (or plastic if you’re being unkind) Scroll to the end to see the sad of this post to see the brutal reality of my gardening endeavours

But, here is the honest truth. I am lazy. I would much rather doom scroll sitting in a garden than be weeding, watering and digging in one. There, I’ve said it. However, this is going to change, slowly but surely. I am going to turn my black thumb into a pale green one. I will never be a Paul Bangay with his structured, yet beautiful forms, or Rosemary Verey and her blowsy exuberance, but I can Google and use Laurent (aka AI) to guide me, and nudge me into better garden habits.

Let’s start with my vision. I want a garden to have colours that I can use in the house and on my tables. They have to be hardy, stubborn even. They must be so driven to live that they will do so despite my poor habits.

I want crimsons and oranges, pale, frothy blues, vanilla whites, the blushest of pinks and peaches, lavender and cobalt blue. A very dear friend of mine has such a garden. The colours she has chosen work so beautifully together, and the posies that she has created from her garden are a glorious testament to colour, form, and above all, discipline to get outside, and do what needs to be done, when it needs it.

*A beautiful posy from my friend’s garden.*

The plants I choose will also have some kind of sentimental pull for me. I want Flanders Poppies, as they grew, not only in Flanders, but across the channel in Norfolk, where my grandmother spent her girlhood. She spoke about walking through fields of poppies on her way to Sheringham from her village home in Weybourne along the cliffs, and her ashes are now resting there. I also want those gorgeous blowsy ranunculi in deep pinks, oranges and reds in an explosion of exuberance. I have a core childhood memory of sitting in the garden under an orange tree in bloom, surrounded by ranunculi, and it felt so magical then, and it still does.

I love the airy froth of plumbago,dancing in the breeze, cooling a hot summer’s day. Red and pink geraniums remind me of Switzerland’s cheery window boxes

So, here’s my plan to turn this inept gardener into a proficient one, a season at a time, starting now, at the best time to garden, the height of an Australian Summer.

January in Adelaide is hot, dry and harsh. This is not the time to be planting anything, so I will maintain what I currently have. Most of my plants are annuals that won’t survive the season, which will make way for my intentional planting as the weather cools. Well, that’s my excuse, and I am sticking to it.

Jobs for January:

Deep water in the morning before the sun starts blazing
Mulch the pots to keep them cool
Add mulch and compost to the garden bed under the ornamental pear tree
Pull up weeds regularly when I see them.
Browse gardening catalogues and refine my plant list.

Check in with me next month to see what has survived, what has died, and what my plans are.

Wish both me, and my garden good luck; we will need it!

The Inept Gardener… A series

Calm before the chaos

Afraid of colour